Urbain Grandier was
a Roman Catholic priest who was burned at the stake on 18 August
1634 after having been convicted of conspiring with Satan to
corrupt an order of Ursuline nuns. While Grandier had forsaken
his vows of chastity and celibacy, and was known as a bit of
a cad, the whole demonic affair was the fabrication of Jeanne
des Anges, prioress of the Ursuline convent. Her own sexual obsession
with the wayward priest led her to invent the entire possession
story. Grandier’s case was further complicated by his clash with
the powerful and corrupt Cardinal Richelieu, who needed the meddlesome
priest to be out of the way in order to further his political
agenda.

The story is famous
and has been recounted in a number of modern works including
the so-called “historical study” by Aldous Huxley in 1952, a
story by Polish author Jaroslaw Iwaskiewicz, a film based on
that story by Jerzy Kawalerowicz in 1960, a successful British
adaptation for the stage by Robert Whiting and a highly controversial
film from 1970 by maverick film-maker Ken Russell.

The story first came
to Penderecki’s attention in 1964, while he was completing his
monumental St. Luke Passion. The composer’s deep compassion
for the victims of the Holocaust made this story of religious
intolerance coupled with political intrigue and the persecution
of innocents all but irresistible. Thus was born his first opera,
which opened to considerable criticism at the International Society
for New Music’s 43rd festival in Hamburg in 1969.
Many of the problems were the result of Konrad Swinarski’s over-reliance
on historical accuracy and authenticity which in effect obliterated
Penderecki’s desire to present a piece of history as an allegory
for modern times and events.

Almost immediately
after the premiere, the work was taken into the studio and filmed
for television, one of the earliest such projects filmed in color.
With the camera’s ability to focus the viewer on specific scenes
and characters, undistracted by peripheral action, Swinarski’s
vision was far better able to be portrayed, and it is clear that
this filmed version of the opera serves it better than a stage
production could.

Why then, has this
work, which even at a distance of some forty years is still chillingly
captivating lain dormant? A number of issues could be in play.
First, the music itself is characteristic of a certain time,
and although perfectly suited for this story and for its visual
telling, requires a great deal of work on the part of the listener
to comprehend. Penderecki was at this period in his work using
techniques such as the creation of “sound bands” or large swathes
of aural color that were created by random repetition of rhythmic
gestures and often approximated pitches. This effect works well
with crowd scenes and it successfully depicts confusion, rage
and mass hysteria. Where it does not work as well is in the presentation
of dialogue between individual characters. Penderecki’s disjunct
and angular vocal writing leaves the listener tired after a time,
and one’s thoughts start to wander away from the drama and more
toward sympathy for the singers who had to learn and memorize
this challenging score. The composer’s signature techniques are
most effective in the orchestral writing, where they sound as “normal” as
any modern suspense film score.

This production finds
its greatest success in its visuals. Period costumes, dark in
hue, set against a bleak stone background immediately foreshadow
the ominous and terrifying events to come. The setting is joyless,
treacherous, lecherous and foreboding. Swinarski is also quite
adept at portraying the subtleties of hidden drama. One is struck
by such devices as the manipulation of the ignorant and uneducated
masses to achieve the political ends of the more powerful main
characters. He also uses the power of religious dogma to stunning
effect in the way that the Ursuline sisters are whipped up into
a manic frenzy, fully believing that they are possessed with
evil spirits. They willingly submit to repeated exorcisms, staged
for show by the priests in power.

The work is also
well served by its remarkable and well chosen cast. The late
lamented Tatiana Troyanos as Jeanne and baritone Andrzej Hiolski
as Grandier turn in brilliant and believable performances. In
spite of the overtly emotional nature of the roles, both characters
inspire a strange combination of reactions including disdain,
repulsion and sympathy. Bernard Ladysz and Hans Sotin aptly play
the priest exorcists, duped into service by men they believe
to be righteous and used as pawns in an evil scheme. Also noteworthy
are the performances of Kurt Marschner and Heinz Blankenburg,
a surgeon and a chemist whose personal vendetta against Grandier
is played out with sinister abandon. One could hardly ask for
a stronger cast, with each member performing admirably as both
singer and actor.

This is not for the
faint of heart. Konrad Swinarski spares little and the scenes
of nudity and torture are undisguised, which is a bit surprising
for 1969. But then again, it was made for German television,
and the Germans have never been prudes. Whether one could call
this opera a masterpiece is open for discussion. That it is an
impressive period piece, and a fine example of its genre and
style goes without saying, and for that historical perspective
alone, it is worthy of one’s time.

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